What Is Important?
by Doran Maya
Summary: A witch is bugged by a reporter and asked what is important. She thinks about her family before going forth into battle. She knows what is important. Oneshot, Hero fic, OC


******Disclaimer: I do not own the Strike Witches franchise or any of the concepts and characters of said franchise. I do own all of the OCs and concepts created by me for this story.**

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Strike Witches

What Is Important?

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"Miss, what is your name?"

"My name? That's not important."

"Miss, what is your rank?"

"My rank? Also not important."

"So then what IS important?"

I sat at the table with a plate full of food I hardly recognized. It was some Fuso dish I was unfamiliar with. It didn't taste bad, but I was too distracted by a reporter. I wondered why a reporter was even on our base.

He wanted to know what was important, but I didn't answer. I only gave him a slight smile and returned to my meal. He moved on and started asking questions to my comrades. It didn't take long for them to get annoyed as well.

The other witches left the mess hall with the unwelcome company of the reporters. I was the only one left. I continued my meal quietly, occasionally staring blankly out of the window.

How long had it been? He was called to duty five years ago. We received his death certificate three years ago. I was thirteen at the time.

My magic awakened when I was five years old. I learned to ride a broom shortly after. My younger siblings were so jealous. By the time he was called to duty, I had six siblings. I was the oldest, at eleven years old, and the youngest was three. I helped mother as much as I could after father went to join the war, as did my two oldest siblings. The younger ones did what they could, of course, but most of the work fell upon mother and the three of us.

That reporter asked me what was important. I couldn't help but remember the times with my family. I hadn't seen any of them since I became a witch, though we did keep in contact through letters as much as possible.

I'm sixteen years old now, and my youngest sibling had recently turned eight. The last letter from home was similar to the rest. They hoped I was okay and wrote about how they were doing. So far, none of them had magic. A part of me wished desperately for one or two of them to awaken magic so they could join the war. I wanted to see them so badly, but the other part of me wanted desperately for none of them to ever awaken magic so they would never have to face the danger of fighting the neuroi.

Mother had magic when she was younger, but her magic had long since decayed. She could still fly a broomstick if she wanted to, but she couldn't do much more. I wondered if any of them would like being a witch. How would they view the world from high in the sky? It really was a great feeling flying so freely, at least while there were no neuroi up there to fight.

I chose to become a witch the moment I saw my father's death certificate. They said my magic was rather strong among the witches, that I could likely fight on par with the Joint Fighter Wings. Maybe one day I would be promoted to a Joint Fighter Wing. It didn't matter too much to me, so long as I could fly in these skies and fight the battles my family never could.

As soon as I finished my meal, I took the plate to the man behind the counter. He was washing the dishes and was grateful that he didn't have to come fetch my plate. Some of the other witches would commonly just leave their plates on the table, and not always finish their food. I always made sure to eat everything and tried to help out as much as I could, though the kind man never allowed it.

"You do more than enough by fighting the battles we cannot. This is the least I can do to help you." He would say.

I couldn't help but smile to him and say thank you every time he turned down my offer to help. He did not, however, decline my keeping him company while he worked. Our conversation today was cut short by the air raid siren.

"Go. Protect the skies!"

"Thanks." I sprinted to the hangar. The other witches were already there. They were probably intending to take off to practice combat maneuvers, if only to escape the annoying reporter.

I jumped in my striker and rolled out of the hangar. The reporter was just standing there watching as everyone else took to the skies.

"Hey, reporter person." I gained his attention quickly. "You asked me before what was important. It's this."

I rolled down the runway and took to the air as quickly as possible. Protecting the sky and fighting the battles nobody else can. That is what's important.

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